him after some other special horse on which he has fixed his
eyes. The rider of that horse may not be the guide that you would
select. But some human guide you must select. Not at first will
you, not at first does any man, choose for himself with serene
precision of confident judgment the line which he will take. You
will be flurried, anxious, self-diffident, conscious of your own
ignorance, and desirous of a leader. Many of those men who are
with you will have objects at heart very different from your
object. Some will ride for certain points, thinking that they can
foretell the run of the fox. They may be right; but you, in your
new ambition, are not solicitous to ride away to some other
covert because the fox may, perchance, be going there. Some are
thinking of the roads. Others are remembering that brook which is
before them, and riding wide for a ford. With none such, as I
presume, do you wish to place yourself. Let the hounds be your
mark; and if, as may often be the case, you cannot see them, then
see the huntsman; or, if you cannot see him, follow, at any rate,
some one who does. If you can even do this as a beginner, you
will not do badly.

But, whenever it be possible, let the hounds themselves be your
mark, and endeavour to remember that the leading hounds are those
which should guide you. A single hound who turns when he is
heading the pack should teach you to turn also. Of all the hounds
you see there in the open, probably not one-third are hunting.
The others are doing as you do, following where their guides lead
them. It is for you to follow the real guide, and not the
followers, if only you can keep the real guide in view. To keep
the whole pack in view and to ride among them is easy enough when
the scent is slack and the pace is slow. At such times let me